Lost God's Faith
by transmuting
Summary: After Tony is abducted and tortured for a week, the team finds him more broken than they even expected, and they have to do everything they can to try and help him put the pieces back together. Tiva heavy! Violence. Title from Blue October's "Amnesia."
1. Chapter 1

Ziva stared at her monitor, willing it to give her some answers. A lead - the tiniest clue that could _get_ to a lead. Something to make all the work they were doing feel like it was actually going somewhere. Her stomach was tied in knots and she was losing the tiniest bits of optimism she'd let herself have left in her. Her insides felt empty and she could tell she was already starting to let herself drift from reality. Shaking her head, she grabbed her coffee cup, taking a sip of the now cold and disgusting beverage in order to snap herself back into her job.

McGee frowned, looking over to Gibbs, who had now not said a word in over an hour. No barking commands, no slamming his fists on the desk. Everyone had been dead silent.

"It's been almost a week, Boss," he finally dared to point out, his voice quiet and meek. "I... I hate to be the one to say this, but we've gone well beyond the usual mark for abductions. Maybe we should start... preparing?"

Gibbs didn't look up from his notes, flipping through them as he spoke in a rough voice; "For what, McGee?"

"In case we... you know, we don't find Tony-."

"Alive?"

The word hung in the air between the three agents. It was louder than any blast could have been, harsher than the coldest of winds. Ziva felt her throat close up on itself, but refused to let the tears that burned in her eyes fall. They all knew that missing persons reports rarely led to pleasing results. They rarely led to any results at all. None of them would rest until they had answers. Ziva knew Gibbs wouldn't rest until those answers turned out the way they wanted him to, even - it didn't matter how unrealistic it was. None of them could believe that he was really dead until they saw his body.

Some of them might even refuse to accept it after.

The sound of Gibbs rolling away from his desk caused the two younger agents to jump, the sound far louder than normal due to the heavy silence that had formed. "Go through everything again," he barked, pointing towards their monitors. "Every file, every interview, every damned alibi. I don't care what rules you have to break, just _find the bastard_." He took a deep breath, staring at the larger screen, eyes narrowed as he seemed to get lost in thought. What the hell were they missing?

* * *

><p>He thought for a second he could feel the sun on his face. His eyes closed, he was positive there was the warmth of rays streaming in through a window. When he opened them, he was greeted with the same darkness he'd seen for so long now. The same dusty, dark room with the stench of blood. There were no windows. There was no sun. His imagination had gotten the better of him again.<p>

Swallowing, he tried to pull himself into a seated position, whimpering as he did so. Every muscle in his body hurt. His mouth tasted like iron, but he didn't even have the energy to spit the blood out of it. Letting his head fall back against the wall, he stared up at what he assumed was a ceiling, his eyelids drooping, his mouth parting slightly so he could breathe. He wasn't sure when it had become so hard to do so through his nose. He wasn't really sure of much at that moment.

He was thirsty. Hungry. He was sure if he went much longer without food and water that he'd begin to hallucinate. He'd thought the bucket in the corner had been dirty water at first, but the horrid stench that came from it when he got too close made it clear he'd assumed wrong. He swallowed the blood in his mouth just to have some kind of liquid cover his throat. Least to say, it didn't do much to help.

He could hear the creak of a door opening, the sound of heavy footsteps, and he let out a pathetic sounding whimper as he pushed himself back farther against the wall. He wanted to blend into it, to wedge himself into the cracks in the stone somehow. Something in his mind told him he used to face this with bravery, a cocky and sarcastic attitude that had made it seem like he would never break. He wondered how ashamed that old part of him was, to see the new, weakened man in his place, begging, pleading, and screaming to be left alone.

* * *

><p>It was extremely hard to run in platforms. Still, Abby managed, bursting into the squad room with a piece of paper that she all too roughly shoved into Gibbs' chest. The team lead looked at her with a mixture of confusion and agitation, a glare that told her she had better explain herself set fully on his face. She hadn't even needed the prompt, as with still panting breaths, she pointed at the paper, unable to get the words out, and using her hands to get the message across. Ziva and McGee both looked perplexed, but the elder agent was able to decipher it.<p>

Quickly heading to his desk, paper still clutched in hand, he barked out a, "Grab your gear!" as he yanked his gun from the drawer. "Abby's got us a location."

As they scrambled to get their things, nearly running for the elevator, Abby followed after, the look of worry still plastered on her face. "Just - just bring him back safe, you guys. Please. I can't lose another one of you."

"He's not going anywhere, Abs," McGee managed as Gibbs slammed the number for the garage, leaving it glowing. The elevator dinged and the doors began to close. "You know he's too stubborn!"

As the team disappeared behind a sheet of metal, the young scientist was left standing in the hall, her hands clutched to her heart, wringing nervously. "I hope you're right, Timmy," she muttered, her voice shaking. "I really hope you're right."

* * *

><p>Ziva wasn't patient. Gibbs had told her to wait until they got to the back door, and she had waited as long as she could. Still, she didn't listen for his signal before kicking in the door, making her way into the dilapidated home out in the middle of the boondocks. It was no wonder it had been so hard to find Tony; this place was in shambles, she knew there was little cellphone service out here, if the man even <em>had<em> a phone. The place was almost completely off the radar and if it hadn't been for Abby...

She tried not to think that, keeping her gun pointed in front of her, barely listening to Gibbs lecturing her in her ear for being reckless. She met McGee half way through the living room, both of them noting the bookshelf with the small scratch marks on the wall beside it. Silently signaling him to help her, the two worked to push the secret door out of the way, revealing the uneven stone staircase leading down into the dark. Ziva knew Tony would have a million horror movies to reference when they got him out of here. She held onto that hope as she clicked on her flashlight, making her way down the stairs with Tim directly behind her.

The corridor at the end of the stair case was long and narrow, lit only by emergency lights that lined the ceiling and floor. It looked like it might have been some kind of emergency bunker from the fifties that was never properly cared for; unsurprising, giving the state of the rest of the home. The cold stone of the walls did nothing to hide the overpowering smell of blood, vomit, and other bodily fluids that cause Ziva to have to bite down on her inner cheek to keep from wanting to lose her own lunch. It wasn't an unfamiliar smell, really. Not for someone who had rescued enough people from imprisonment in terrorist camps.

Gun held at eye level, she continued her way down the hall, pausing only when she saw the sign of a slight shift in lighting. A door. The only door in the hall. It reminded her of the way the camp in Somalia had been arranged and she felt her mouth go dry, her palms sweating some. She prayed Tony was in better condition than she had been when she'd been found - or hell, that he was even just in the same condition. The only other option was not something she wanted to consider. She refused to believe she wouldn't know if he was dead already.

She slowly motioned to McGee to make sure he'd seen it, satisfied by a nod of confirmation. His own weapon ready, she made her way over towards the handle. Mouthing the countdown, she didn't even pause a moment once she'd hit the number three, shoving the door open and immediately pulling her weapon back up where it belonged. They had barely any time to make it into the room before she saw the man charging towards the door. He was large and well built, but they were the only details she managed to pick up in the dim lighting. Her flashlight caught the reflection of a blade and before she could shout a warning to her fellow agent, she heard him cry out in pain, firing off a shot soon after. She quickly fired off three of her own. The man dropped down to the ground, no longer moving. She was quick to check the rest of the room at eye level for any accomplices, but found none.

"Are you okay, McGee?" she said as she immediately went to his side. He gave a grunt, one she assumed was supposed to be of reassurance. She could feel the blood pouring from the top of his arm and went to unzip her jacket. Wrapping it around the wound, she tied it off the best she could, placing her hand on his back. "I do not think they got to anything important. Are you all right to stand?"

"Yeah, I think I can on my own." He pushed her lightly with his good arm to try and get her to leave him be. "Search for DiNozzo - he's gotta be in here somewhere."

She nodded in agreement, getting up and holding up her flashlight to try and see more of the room. It was large and barely furnished. A wooden chair with metal chains around it sat in the middle and she could see cabinets and tables. There was a bucket with a foul stench that made her want to cover her nose just to breathe properly when she got too close. And beside it, a large lump, shrouded in darkness. She aimed her flashlight a little higher and the lump took on a more familiar form.

"Tony!" The cry left her mouth before she could stop it as she quickly made her way over, falling to her knees beside him and going to pull his body into her lap. "McGee! McGee, over here!" Cupping his face in her hands, she tried her best to shake him, to get some sort of conscious response out of him. "Tony - Tony, wake up. Please. You have to be okay."

Timothy kneeled beside her, going to check for a pulse, giving a sigh of relief when he found one. "Gibbs, we need a medic down here quickly," he said simply. "It was Major Jonathan Stone. He's dead and the basement is clear. The secret door should still be open, end of the hall."

Ziva could hear Gibbs' confirmation in the speaker in her ear, but barely registered it as she heard Tony groan, his eyes slowly opening. She barely could even smile at him before he was using what little strength he had to scramble away from her, his eyes wide and fearful as he pressed his back against the wall. Her forehead was quick to wrinkle in confusion, having expected quite the opposite reaction. Perhaps he couldn't see - perhaps he still thought she was Major Stone.

"Tony - Tony, relax. It's us - me. It's Ziva."

His eyes kept their fear in them and he flinched when she went to move closer. His breath was labored and he looked between McGee and Ziva once he could more properly make out their faces in the dim lighting of the flashlight. Still, there was no gleam of recognition, no sign of relief and safety. It took him a moment before he managed to croak out in a voice that was rough and laced with terror.

"Who the hell are you people?"


	2. Chapter 2

Ziva watched quietly through the window as the doctor tended to Tony, flashing the light in his eyes, making him walk in a line across the room. He seemed normal; a little shaky and unsure in his movements, perhaps, but otherwise he looked rather well. She knew he was covered in cuts and bruises - she had not even been allowed to search for all the damage while he'd still been sleeping in the hospital bed, calmed by sedatives. Even when he'd woken up, there had been no recognition given to her face, and she had felt her heart drop into his stomach.

"Retrograde amnesia is fairly common." The voice beside her made her jump. She had begun to stare into space and hadn't noticed that the doctor had left the room to come stand beside her. He gave an apologetic smile, but pressed on without much interruption in his train of thought. "Though usually not quite so severe. Usually patients only forget a few minutes, maybe a few hours, and it comes back within a couple of days. It might be psychogenic, but he certainly shows signs of having suffered a few concussions."

She had seen plenty of men lose memories from severe physical trauma and she knew full well how rare it was to have them return. Glancing back to her partner, she placed a hand at her throat, toying with her necklace to calm her nerves. "Will he... I mean, do you think he'll ever...?"

"We're going to keep up hope," he said with a small smile, reaching out to place a hand on her shoulder. The touch was steadying - comforting. She nodded slowly. "There was a patient written about in an article some time ago that suffered severe retrograde amnesia, forgetting nearly everything except the faces of famous politicians. A year later, he laid down for some sort of surgery, remembered having done so nearly twenty-five years prior, and everything came flooding back. Another patient playing tennis had similar results when he realized he was making the same mistakes during a tennis match."

"Our boss had a much similar thing happen to him as well. It did not take him long, I was able to help..."

She tried to ignore the sympathetic look on the doctor's face, the way he clearly saw her struggling and wanted to tell her to not get her hopes up. He sighed slightly. "Try introducing him to things he should find familiar slowly and we might just get lucky."

Ziva continued to watch him flirt with the nurse who was adjusting his pain medication. The same old Tony. It was hard to think that he could have forgotten so much already.

"When will he be able to go home?"

The doctor folded his arms over his chest, following her gaze to watch the injured man for a moment. "We'll want to keep him overnight for further observation. Hydrate him, make sure he can eat properly, that everything is working the way it should. Minus the healings of a broken nose and somewhat deeper abrasions to the chest and back, everything else seems to be healing up quickly. I'd say he should be able to leave tomorrow morning, if all goes well. So long as he has someone to keep an eye on him."

"Our team will care for him," she said immediately, not breaking her gaze. "I will be sure that we are here to bring him home."

There was a hesitant pause before the doctor nodded. "I'll make sure the paperwork is ready and waiting first thing."

He left her there to watch him. It wasn't too long after that the nurse left, leaving Tony alone in the rather barren hospital room. The steady beeping of the machines monitoring his vitals made him give a glare of annoyance over his shoulder, before he began to adjust the pillows, wincing and whimpering as he tried to make himself comfortable. He was slowly becoming more like himself in his mannerisms and facial expressions and Ziva found herself heavily relieved.

Finally, she took a deep breath, letting herself into the room. The creak of the door caused him to stiffen considerably, his eyes widening and she could see that sense of fear on his face - one that would never leave, she imagined, whenever he was confronted with triggers of his time in that disgusting basement. She knew how long trauma could stay with a person, how long the ice cold terror could stay in your veins. She gave him a smile of understanding. He relaxed.

"Uh - Tifa, was it?"

"Ziva," she muttered quietly, going to sit down in the chair by his bed, holding her shrug close around her, hands almost clinging to the fabric for support. His green eyes never seemed to leave her, studying her, clearly trying so hard to remember.

"Right," he grumbled, disappointed by his failure to remember properly. "Ziva. And the other guy - Tim?" He waited until she nodded, finally managing a small smile at remembering something right. "Is he with you?"

"He is at the squad room with Gibbs. After they finished his stitches, the two went back to do the reports. They will be back later tonight to check on you." While he nodded in understanding, Ziva could tell her had been able to only barely follow her words. Squad room and reports... These were things he no longer knew off the top of his head. Gibbs had not even brought a glimmer of recognition.

She found herself remember when their boss had been in such a similar situation. The memories stopping after the death of his family, only slowly returning as the more familiar situations began to show themselves to him. Hot dogs, shaving his head - Franks. She felt her throat tighten and forced it down. A headslap had been enough to bring back most of it. A familiar action. She wondered if there would be the same miracle cure for him as well, as there had been for Gibbs and the men the doctor had brought up to her before

"So are we dating or something?"

The question startled her, nearly making her drop her purse as she looked up at him in surprise. "What?"

"You and me. I mean - you just seemed a little more, you know... put out, I guess, than Tim or that uh - the grumpy, grey haired one - I don't..." His forehead wrinkled, his hand reaching up to pinch his nose as he tried to grasp for a connection. Seeing him struggle to remember his boss, the man who had been like a second father to him all these years, made Ziva's heart nearly shatter in her chest. "I don't think anyone told me his name."

"Gibbs," she said slowly, her eyes falling to the ground. "His name is Gibbs."

He nodded, letting the name sink in, trying to keep it there so he could recall it later. "They don't seem to be quite so... affected."

She could feel her cheeks heat under his stare, keeping her eyes on the tiles at her feet. "They are affected," she said, her voice low. "Gibbs finds hiding his emotions far easier - masking his worry and burying himself in work. McGee, he - ... I think you just have not seen him much yet. His worry is all over his face. He wants you to get better as much as the rest of us."

"So why's it you who's sitting with me all night and not one of them?"

She smiled a little, shrugging. "I drew the short straw."

He snorted, looking towards the monitors, watching his heart rate. "I'm that loved a guy, huh?"

"You are an acquired taste." She finally looked up from the floor, reaching out to take his hand carefully in hers. "One that we have all come extremely attached to." Giving his hand a squeeze, she smiled as their eyes met again.

"You didn't answer my question, you know."

Her brow arched. "What question?"

"Are we dating?"

She rolled her eyes, pulling her hand back and folding her arms over her chest as she leaned back into the chair. The florescent lights felt suddenly blinding and she closed her eyes, shaking her head. "I would kill you within a week."

"Mm, that's a shame," he muttered. She could practically hear the smirk on his lips, not having to open her eyes to know it was there. "I'd be one hell of a lucky guy to have a girl as hot as you."

"Charming." She pulled herself up from her seat, eyes opening again, reaching out to brush his hair from his forehead. "You should get some rest. If you are cleared in the morning, I will be taking you home." The smirk stayed in place and she could see the slight, typical mischievous Tony glint in his eyes. "To _rest_, you idiot." She shook her head, pulling the blanket up farther for him. "Even with brain damage, you can't keep your mind clean."

"Part of my charm, I assume."

"Hn. _Charm_. I think that gene skipped over you." Tapping his nose gently, she turned to leave, only to feel the weight of his hand around her wrist, keeping her still. She stopped in her tracks, spinning enough on her heel to get him in her eye sight again. His eyes seemed wider than usual, fearful once more, and almost pleading. "Tony?"

He swallowed softly, letting his hand fall and going to play with a loose string in the blanket. "You're coming back, right?" He tried to sound more nonchalant about it, as though he didn't truly care either way, but she knew him well enough to know better.

"I'll be here when you wake up again," she said softly, going to pat his hand. "I promise."

Nodding softly, he went to readjust himself on the bed, wincing at the movement. She waited until he was settled, leaning over to place a gentle kiss against the top of his forehead. It was strange to see him so worked up, so afraid, so jumpy - but she knew full well he had reasons. Brushing her hand through his hair, she waited until she was sure he was on his way to sleep, heading out of the room to get herself a cup of coffee.

It was going to be a very long night, she was sure.


End file.
